


The perfect name

by Anuna



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pregnancy, babyfluff, kobayashi universe, team!love, teamfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding a perfect name is not easy. When you're dealing with a task so important, it's really good to have some friends around. (Or, how Amy Barton got her name and whom she can thank for it.) Set in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/465017">Kobayashi Maru</a> universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The perfect name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Koren M (CyberMathWitch)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMathWitch/gifts).



> I wrote this for [Koren M (CybermathWitch)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMathWitch/), because she is the best braintwin and friend and fellow fangirl ever. She deserves all the glorious babyfic for REASONS, and it's widely known by now that I can't resist writing babyfic, especially babyfic which includes Clint and Natasha. I shall make no apologies. No apologies whatsoever. *nods*

*

“Sarah?” he suggests and looks up from where he's sprawled on the bed next to her. Natasha's hand pauses in his hair and she considers his suggestion.

“No,” she says. “It sounds old.”

“It doesn't sound old,” he fakes a pout and then looks back at Natasha's stomach. It's big and round and she feels like she's ready to burst at the seams. Almost everything hurts and she barely sleeps and every position is uncomfortable. She shifts on the bed and tires to adjust the pillow behind her back. Her natural grace is non existent and she is ready to have this baby as soon as possible, please. According to the doctor it will be another week. If she is lucky even less, and she tries not to freak out when she thinks about giving birth and everything that comes afterwards.

“It's an ancient name,” Natasha argues. “Biblical times. I don't want to name my daughter after someone from the Bible,” she says and watches him as he observes her stomach. He's so fascinated with it, he touches her as often as he can; he speaks to their child aloud (something she does only in her head). He's never been this open before, and it surprises her, but just slightly. He was always more forthcoming, more willing to show his emotions and show her that it's safe, it's okay to share them.

Just a few more days, she thinks. Another week, perhaps, and then she'll be here.

“Alison?” Clint offers.

“We're not naming her after your favorite country singer,” Natasha says.

“We'd name her Emmylou, then,” he tries to be a smartass, but there's too much sentimentality in his voice to truly succeed, and she loves that and at the same time doesn't know what to do with it.

“I'm vetoing that name,” she says and strokes his hair as he continues to study her stomach.

“Fine. Let's just ask her,” he says, as he strokes the skin he exposed. “Hey, baby girl,” he says gently.

“Clint,” she admonishes, but she doesn't have the heart to tell him not to do it. He likes it, loves it in fact, and Natasha isn't certain why it affects her so strangely. Every time she has to hold tight onto this thing in her chest, hold it and not let it expand too much. “Hey, you,” his voice is so, _so_ gentle, and yet it shakes her to the core.

“She can't hear you,” Natasha says through tightness of her throat.

“Of course she can,” he's smiling, his palm and fingers look so rough against her skin. Then suddenly there's a kick, right against his hand. “Oh, see?” he smiles, looks at her stomach with plain adoration. “There she is. Look, I think that's her foot.”

“I –,” Natasha breathes and swallows, “I'm pretty sure it _is_ her foot.”

He looks up and smiles, and God, she _loves_ him.

She loves him so much, it might break her apart or hold her together – she isn't sure.

“It feels like her foot,” she says when he remains silent and watches as he kisses the spot.

“God, Tasha. This is just -” he looks at her the presses his face against the round, firm swell of her body.

“I know,” she says and swallows.

“It's amazing. You're amazing.”

“I'm just pregnant,” she says.

He shakes his head and moves to kiss her on the lips. Then he gently wipes her eyes with his thumb, and doesn't say anything about it. Smart man.

“It's much more than 'just pregnant',” he says and kisses her again.

“Stop doing that, you fool,” she says fondly. Then, because she can't hold it all inside her chest she says,“You're making me weepy.”

“I like you weepy,” he kisses her nose.

“No, you don't,” she protests.

“Yes I do,” he says and his voice sounds like a smile. “I like you pregnant. Can you be pregnant all the time?”

“I had no idea you're such a caveman,” she laughs a little.

“What can I say, you bring out the best in me,” he's unapologetic and just plain happy and she gives him a tender look. The thing is, he sees what they're creating, and she fears what they might destroy; but she trusts him, she always did, and she will give her all to follow where he leads. She will believe that this will be the best thing they do together.

“Emily?” he gives her a hopeful look.

“That's nice,” she says, and it is nice, but it doesn't have that something.

“Just nice?” he asks as he strokes her skin. The baby kicks again, right against his palm and he pushes gently back. Natasha laughs, it feels strange, almost like she's mediating their communication. It feels like she shouldn't be a part of it, but she is, and nothing can take it away, and this feeling of belonging is so incredibly overwhelming. “I think she likes it,” he argues with raise of eyebrows and she wants to kiss every inch of his face and every line around his eyes.

“Why don't we wait until she's here, and then we'll ask her,” she suggests, and it seems like he understands that he should let it go for now. He kisses her stomach one more time and pulls the tunic back into place.

*

In less than twenty four hours his world is upside down.

He doesn't know what to do with his head, his hands, his heart. He held his daughter for a little bit, then later came a doctor to check on Natasha, and he was asked to go out. The baby is asleep when he's back in the room again, and Natasha is trying to find a good position on the bed. Bruce is checking her chart and Clint is torn between looking at the baby girl and being next to Nat when the baby starts to cry.

They both react, but Natasha's reaction is something he never saw on her – and he saw everything. Or at least he thought he did. She is almost up and out of the bed, alarmed and protective, when Bruce tells her to stay out and brings the baby.

“I think she might be hungry,” he explains, and Natasha looks at him with a hint of panic on her face. “It's...,” Bruce smiles as he cradles the baby and brings her to Natasha. “You have all you need to feed her,” he explains softly, like he understands exactly what is wrong, and Natasha calms down when the realization settles.

Clint watches as she takes the baby, slowly, and how her face changes. He sees the fear in her eyes, that same fear he feels – that they won't know how to do this right, but he refuses to bow under it. If there is anything worth the fight, anything in the entire world, it's their child.

“Hey,” he says as he nears the bed and sits next to Natasha. “Let me help?”

She looks at him and her fingers reach for the ties on her nightgown and he nods. She senses how Bruce turns his back, and Clint thanks him in his mind – for being there, for listening, for helping Natasha give birth. For everything. He doesn't mind him being here, and it seems that Natasha doesn't either. Her hands shake slightly and she frees one full breast from the fabric and then he gives her the baby. He tries to come up with the next step, but what happens next seems like course of nature, like Natasha had done this a thousand times.

“Oh. Oh God,” she says as she watches. Her face changes as she struggles with the emotions and finally there's a smile, slow and soft and perfect. “There you go,” she whispers. “You're hungry, aren't you?” she says and Clint kisses her forehead and they share a look. Such stunned and happy look.

“That's it,” Bruce says gently and Clint looks at him. “I should – uh,” he says apologetically and looks at both of them as if he wants to say something.

“What is it?” Natasha asks.

“I was thinking,” he says. “Did you decide on a name?”

Clint and Natasha share a look and Bruce grins. “Well, then,” he tries to contain his amused smile (as he will probably tell Tony that he didn't win the bet), “how about a suggestion?”

“What do you have in mind?” Natasha asks as she looks from the baby to Bruce and back. Clint just watches the two of them, Natasha feeding the baby and being so completely mesmerized, and he thinks he understands. It's the first time her body's sole purpose is to create and nurture, and she watches it as it happens; and Clint thinks he can see it, see her being mended and healed in ways that were impossible before.

“Amelia,” Bruce says. “Well, Amy. It means -”

“Beloved,” Natasha offers and smiles. Then she looks at Clint, asking wordlessly if he likes it and he thinks, _yes_. It's the right one, a perfect name. Well, both of them.

Bruce probably sees the answer on their faces and smiles. He starts to leave, but Clint can't let him before he asks one more thing.

“Bruce?” The scientist turns and Clint thinks how he can finally see who this man truly is. And this, what he's about to ask him; he's thought of this before. Clint looks at Natasha, and it feels almost like she can read his mind, because she knows this is important to him.

“Yeah?”

Clint asks his question then.

“Will you be her godfather?”

 

*

He climbs up the tower two hours later (after he helped Natasha freshen up and change, and both she and Amy were asleep) and finds the rest of the guys at Steve's.

“There you are,” Tony says, and Thor says “Friend Barton, congratulations,” and Bruce just smiles in the background; and Steve is shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. Clint smiles, more than he ever smiled with them, and they laugh and talk with all that excitement, and Tony brings out a bottle that looks expensive and rare, and Clint is just speechless. His chest is too full and he is thanking them, feeling the excitement sweeping over him and he wonders if that is how new fathers are supposed to feel. Speechless and filled with emotions impossible to name.

“So, the name?” Tony asks when they all get their glasses.

“Amelia Barton,” he says and feels so incredibly proud. “Amy,” he looks at Bruce.

Steve smiles. “Good name.”

“Amelia... means work,” Clint looks at his glass then looks up, and to faces of his friends. “And God knows we'll have a lot of work to do. Amy, the shorter version...”

“It means beloved,” Tony says for him.

“That is a beautiful name,” Thor decides.

“So, who picked?” Tony asks.

“Actually, it was Bruce's suggestion,” Clint raises his glass slightly.

“Well well,” Tony narrows his eyes at Bruce, but his smile is too bright to really mean it. “Sneaky.”

“I shall take it as a compliment,” Bruce says.

“You better do,” Tony says. Then he looks at the rest of them, at Clint and raises his glass. “To Amy Barton,” he says, quite serious and close to being teary eyed. “To you, my friend,” Tony adds, no bravado and Clint nods.

He looks and listens as they repeat the name, _Amy Barton_ and it settles – in his mind, in his heart, and he realizes it's a part of him now.

 

*

It's late when he comes back, and they're still asleep.

Natasha looks like she's finally resting, curled on her side and facing Amy (he'll be calling her Amy, even though he likes the bigger version of the name as well, and he doesn't really care those are actually two names. They make sense. They make perfect sense.)

He is still to worked up to rest, though. He stands over Natasha first, feeling a bit like a battered guardian angel when he looks at her, peaceful and asleep, and wishes he could guard her from everything that steals away this kind of peace. Then, slowly, he turns to the bassinet and the baby, and this time he picks her up on his own, carefully. She stirs just a little bit but continues sleeping and he smiles. How long did he wait just to do this? He looks at her, and she is so tiny, smaller than his arm. She looks soft and fragile and helpless, and powerful emotions rise inside his chest.

“Hey baby girl,” he whispers, and his voice sounds raspy and wrong, like he might cry. “Amy,” he smiles, because it is the right name. Amelia is just for him and Nat, and only they know the true meaning of it, and he thanks Bruce for finding it for them. Then, as he turns and looks at Natasha, he realizes that everything would be different if they didn't have all of _them_.

He thinks of something Thor said. _She is strong_ , he said when he saw her, and Clint turns those words around his head and decides that they are true, because he and Natasha, they _can_ make her strong, and they _will_ , and it's a good thing to have a … friend remind you of that.

“Daddy loves you very much, baby,” he says, softly, and he likes that he's able to speak these words just like this. Oh, he's waited for this for so, so long. “Daddy will love you always,” he says, gently lifting her tiny fingers and seeing dreams and possibilities and imagining all the good things he can do. “Always, always,” he promises.

He walks with her to the window, to look over the city lights flickering to life. It's getting darker and the world is still around him. Some day, he will teach her how to walk, he will show her these lights and everything that's exciting and wonderful out there. Some day, but not today, not yet. Right now, all he has to do is hold her like this and just stay.


End file.
